Thick Smoke
by bluetomato
Summary: As soon as she has succumbed to the pull of nicotine, she opens her eyes and exhales. I have never seen smoke curl so lusciously out of someone's mouth before. It is putrid, and it fascinates me. Warning: femmeslash


She slides her arm so carelessly around my waist, a gesture that I know means nothing to her but sent shivers down my spine and all-too-familiar butterflies to my stomach.

"You coming with us tonight, or what?" 

The arm not hooked around my waist reaches into her purse and extracts a half-smoked box of cigarettes. Not any particular brand - she doesn't have a favorite. One handed, she shakes a cigarette from the pack and rolls it between her fingers for a few moments before flicking her eyes up to meet mine. 

"Light?" I laugh nervously. She know that I don't smoke. 

"Someone else, then?" 

A dark-haired boy who I don't know reaches across me with a lighter and flicks it on, the flame close enough to my face that I can smell its butane, chemical warmth. The boy's faded red cap slips over his eyes as he leans forward to light her cigarette, and I can't get a good view of his face. But it doesn't matter - she's here, it's not like anything will happen to me. 

"Mmmm." 

She lifts the smoldering cigarette to her lips and places it delicately in her mouth. As she inhales, her eyes close, a look of relief and ecstasy crossing her features. The butterflies in my stomach flutter madly. Then, as soon as she has succumbed to the pull of nicotine, she opens her eyes and exhales. I have never seen smoke curl so lusciously out of someone's mouth before. It is putrid, and it fascinates me.

She looks at me again. "You didn't answer my question. Jesus Christ, it's fucking cold out here."

"Yeah." Well, we've just crossed an empty parking lot full of snow, and the sidewalk that we're currently inhabiting is no more inviting.

"So that's a yes, then?" She takes another drag on her cigarette, her cheeks forming identical hollows as she inhales.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

She laughs, and the sound is thick and smoky. 

"I thought so." The dark-haired boy snorts under his breath. "You want a drag?" she asks me. She slows her walk a little, lifts her hand, extends her arm. It's there - the cigarette that I have sworn to never smoke. 

"Sure." 

I meet her eyes, and the wild excitement I see reflected there is an unfamiliar look. I have never invited cancer so readily into my lungs.

The smoke is thick and chokes me, clinging to my insides in all the wrong places. I can feel it spiraling into my lungs, choking off my oxygen supply. I fight the urge to hack it all up and pull the cigarette from my mouth, handing it back to her as I exhale. I'd like to think that my mouth is making a perfect O as I blow the yellow-gray carcinogen back into the frigid January air, but I don't know. 

She laughs again – that thick, husky laugh. "Fuck, you look so sexy when you do that."

The butterflies are battling each other now. 

"Yeah?" 

"Mmhmm." She takes a final drag on her cigarette, then flicks it to the snow-covered sidewalk. It is forgotten. The dark-haired boy is fishing through his robes for something, his own cigarette dangling from his lips. He seems occupied, but perks up at her words.

We stop in front of a decaying sign displaying the rates for charmed dark objects at the shop behind us. Her ungloved hand lifts itself to my face and brushes back a strand of fiery-red hair. 

"So fucking sexy." 

Her mouth is on mine before I understand what's happening. Her tongue slips effortlessly into my mouth and as our breath mingles, I taste the acrid cigarette smoke. It is delicious. I forget that the dark-haired boy is watching.

Her tongue caresses mine, but not gently. The kiss isn't hurried, but it is forceful, and I can feel my lips bruising with each nip, bite, suck that she rains upon them. My hands slide into her hair as I press myself closer to her body. Her hair is as soft as always - as soft as when I'm playing with it late at night in her bedroom. But this time, it actually means something.

I moan involuntarily into her mouth as her fingers find the zipper on my parka and pull it down quickly, as though it were a nuisance.

I have also forgotten that it is cold. 

Her fingers dance lightly across the skin on my stomach as they lift the hem of my t-shirt, and I am aware that her breasts are just barely brushing mine. She sucks gently on my lower lip for a moment more, then pulls away slowly. Her hands move and her fingers draw slow, sensuous circles on my lower back. Her hips are pressed to mine, and I can feel a throbbing heat between my legs that I am sure she can feel through my jeans. 

The world comes back into focus as she steps away from me. 

"Fuck." Her voice is soft, but still husky. She turns to the dark-haired boy. He has pushed his baseball cap back and I can see through his shaggy bangs that his eyes are green. 

"You ready?" 

He nods and they both turn to go. She remembers me almost as an afterthought, grabs my hand, pulls me along with her. Her fingers are freezing, but I'm sure that mine will warm them. 

We pass the dark arts shop, scrambling over a snow bank, and pause under the overhanging of an abandoned potions shop. The price of Floo Powder is displayed on a yellowing card in the front window – twelve sickles an ounce. The building is dark and empty. 

She plants another kiss firmly on my lips as the dark-haired boy draws his wand silently from the pockets of his robes and turns to face the shop's boarded up door.

"Alohomora." The cold whisper of the spell washes over me and I watch the door over her shoulder as it jerks violently open, the lock dangling uselessly by the latch. Within, I can see several dark, hooded shapes watching silently.

She suddenly pulls her mouth away, disentangles herself from my body. She turns to follow the dark-haired boy into the store; my heart skips a beat and my steps falter as I try to enter the shop with them.

She turns then and smiles at me – a sly, calculating smile that sends shivers down my back.

"You'll enjoy this, I promise." Then she is gone, the black emptiness of the shop swallowing her.

I try to remember the sweet, smoky goodness of her kiss as I place my right foot on the stone step that is the entrance to the shop and force myself to enter. I pray that she is right.


End file.
